


The Art of Gift-Giving

by baggvinshield



Series: Prompt Fills [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Birthday Presents, Consort Bilbo Baggins, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, So Married, omg so much tooth-rotting fluff, sort of???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-21 23:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6062659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baggvinshield/pseuds/baggvinshield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>Written for the prompt, "Bagginshield trying to out do one another with kindness and or gifts? Like these dorks just want to do something nice for one another but it turns into a competition."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Gift-Giving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emsiecat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emsiecat/gifts).



> Oh my god it took me long enough to finish this, huh? I had it nearly done for so... long... anyway HERE IT IS, I HOPE YOU LIKE IT
> 
> (btw, credit to the wine moms for helping me think of a couple gifts, it was so long ago I don't remember who thought of what but <3)

* * *

 

 

Bilbo strode into his quarters and went straight to his small stove to set a kettle for tea. It had been a particularly long meeting with the heads of market and commerce, a group of dwarves of diverse ages and backgrounds, and therefore many conflicting opinions. Bilbo felt that he likely needed something stronger than tea to recover from it, but could wait until supper at least before indulging. He took off his jacket and flopped in his armchair.

The kettle whistled, and Bilbo was up pouring himself a cup of tea when there was a knock on the door that adjoined his quarters with Thorin's. Though they often shared a bed and took most of their meals together, they still maintained mostly separate living spaces (though when both were home, the adjoining door was likely to be open and the pair of them together in one's quarters or the other's, so often so that their friends remarked they might as well knock down the separating wall and be done with it).

Bilbo looked up from stirring sugar into his tea and smiled.

“Hullo, Thorin. You're looking rather smart this evening.” And he was - the king often dressed rather casually in dark colored tunics and trousers when at home, but tonight his tunic was very fine indeed, worn over light formal mail, and his hair and beard were freshly washed, combed, and braided.

“Hello,” Thorin said, smiling but otherwise ignoring Bilbo's compliment, “how was your meeting?”

Bilbo groaned. “Long. Circuitous discussion. Remind me again why Balin wanted me involved in the whole affair - tea?”

Thorin blinked, still standing in the doorway, then clasped his hands behind his back as Bilbo knew he was wont to do when he was feeling very serious. “No, thank you.”

“So why are you all dressed up?” Bilbo returned to his armchair with tea in hand and sat back down. “Is there some event I've forgotten? And come in would you, stop standing by the doorway. Sit down and I'll order us up some supper from the kitchens.”

Bilbo watched Thorin and then narrowed his eyes when he realized that he was bordering on fidgety.

“I've already ordered supper,” Thorin announced, straightening his posture. “In my quarters. Will you join me?”

Bilbo grinned over the rim of his tea cup, resisting the urge to ask what about having supper could have Thorin in such an uncommon state of nerves, but he decided to spare him and accept the invitation instead.

Thorin nodded and retrieved Bilbo's jacket from where it hung on the back of a chair. He helped Bilbo slip it back on over his waistcoat, and Bilbo followed him into the king's quarters.

Bilbo stopped short in the doorway to the dining room when he saw the table. Not only was it spread with a wide array of delicious-looking and smelling foods - stews, root vegetables, fresh breads, a roast fowl, jams, puddings, and more than one pie - but the table was set with lovely cloth in rich, deep blue and a row of candles in finely crafted silver candlesticks. The soft flicker from the candles along with two lit wall sconces were the only sources of light in the large room, giving the dining table an intimate and cozy atmosphere.

“What's all this?” Bilbo asked, unable to entirely restrain the slightly accusing tone in his voice.

Thorin pulled out a chair at the head of the table, indicating that Bilbo should sit there, and then sat down next to it. He looked up at Bilbo and smiled a bit sheepishly.

“I know your birthday passed last week, and I understand that Hobbits give gifts rather than receive them, but I wanted to give you something nevertheless.” Thorin spread his hands to indicate the exquisite dinner set before them. “I thought, there is little you'll appreciate more than a fine meal. The kitchens were more than happy to accommodate us.”

Bilbo shook his head, but took his seat. He kept comments such as “foolish dwarf” and “stubborn old sap” to himself for the time being, and instead smiled, reached to lay his hand on Thorin's, and said, “Well, thank you, Thorin. It is lovely.”

The food was even more delicious than it looked, and per usual the conversation was warm and enjoyable. But Bilbo couldn't help but be a bit niggled. It simply wasn't  _ proper _ that he should accept a gift for his own birthday, and this meal certainly outdid his somewhat poorly executed attempt at fashioning an earring for Thorin, which he had given him at his party last week.

Bilbo appreciated Thorin's gesture immensely, no mistake about that - and yet, he felt he couldn't let it be.

Thorin thanked Bilbo for joining him, and Bilbo smiled and leaned over to kiss him sweetly, but if truth be told he had spent a good bit of time during their meal together secretly making a plan.

Bilbo thought he knew how to set this situation to rights.

*

Two weeks later, Bilbo meet Thorin at noon in Erebor’s grand market square as they had agreed to. He greeted the King with a smile and a kiss on his cheek, which brought a bit of pink into Thorin's face (typical).

“Did court go smoothly this morning?” Bilbo asked.

“As smoothly as can be hoped for.” 

They joined hands and began to walk the crowded avenues, narrow straight streets lined with small buildings and tents full of vendors and their goods. Erebor’s population was still relatively small, and Thorin spent enough time outside of the throne room, council chambers, and the royal quarters that the citizens were fairly accustomed to his presence among them and generally let him be. Bilbo thought it the mark of a great King and leader, that their people would be so unfazed to see their King among them, but he kept this opinion to himself as Thorin would likely balk at the blatant praise. 

“The issues in public court today were fairly simple,” Thorin went on. “Property disputes, inheritance, marriage. Nothing that couldn't be solved by Balin and the advising committee checking the letter of the law.’

They walked on.

“I would imagine it's much easier when solutions are spelled out neatly, and you're not being looked to for every decision. Ah, here we are.” Bilbo stopped, and Thorin with him, in front of the shop belonging to one of Ered Luin’s finest tailors, the granddaughter of a prominent tailor of Erebor from centuries ago and now a resident of Erebor herself.  

“Are you buying more clothes?” Thorin asked, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Bilbo huffed, “for you. Now come along, please.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin began to protest, “I have a full wardrobe already, and I can have garments made whenever I wish to.”

Bilbo gave his hand a little tug. “Then consider this the second part of my birthday gift to you.” He walked on, with Thorin in tow, because he couldn’t very well argue with that.

This is how Bilbo managed to commission new formal attire for the King. It cost him a small fortune to hire such a prominent tailor to make multiple garments, and to purchase such fine fabrics for them, but the price meant little to Bilbo considering how very well he’d been paid for his services as the Company’s Burglar. What really mattered to Bilbo was the little smile on Thorin’s face when Bilbo told him how handsome he’d look in the burgundy. 

And, of course, the fact that Bilbo no longer had to feel that he’d been outdone by a gift given to  _ him _ for his very own birthday.

Yes, the whole affair was set to rights indeed.

*

It was only a few weeks later when Thorin had to upset the balance of the thing (in Bilbo’s eyes anyway).

They were seated on the sofa in front of the fireplace in Thorin’s private chambers, their shoulders pressed together while Bilbo read from one of the history books written in Westron found in Erebor’s library, and Thorin sipped his wine and smoked a pipe. 

“I have something for you,” Thorin said.

Bilbo resisted the urge to groan.

Thorin produced a small packet from the pocket of his robe, and pressed it into Bilbo’s hand. 

“Seeds,” Thorin explained with a small smile, “I had them ordered up from the market in Dale. I believe they’re a variety of common garden vegetables, but of course you’ll know more about them than I would. You mentioned wanting to start a garden outside the mountain, so I hope they’ll be useful when Spring comes.”

Bilbo clasped the little packet and smiled despite himself. His mind was filled with images of little seedlings growing in rows, and the harvest he could expect from even just a small garden. It was a terribly thoughtful gift, and he was very grateful. He leaned over and kissed Thorin full on the mouth.

“Well then,” he said, “as my birthday has passed well over a month ago now, what’s the occasion for this gift?”

Thorin smiled and brushed a curl back from Bilbo’s forehead. “Simply that you are dear to me. Perhaps these seeds will give you a touch of your home. And,” the Dwarf grinned, “it was my turn to give a gift, after the clothes.”

“Taking turns now, are we?” Bilbo felt a genuine spark of competitiveness flair up in him, much as he’d felt after the dinner they’d had. “That suits me just fine.”

*

Not long after, Bilbo waited at the gates for Thorin to meet him. 

“Bilbo, what’s this?”

“You don’t recognize one of your cousin’s war rams when you see one?” Bilbo smiled. “Well, he’s not exactly a war ram yet. More of a kid, really.” The baby goat bleated as if in agreement. “But I’ve no doubt you can have him trained as he grows. He’s for you. I know how you admired Dain’s steeds.”

Thorin smiled and ducked his head before moving to get a closer look at the animal. “He does look to be from noble stock.” He met Bilbo’s eyes. “Thank you. You’re a perfect indicator of your people’s talent for gift-giving, I’m sure.”

Bilbo grinned, quite content at having gotten in the last word - er, gift - on this subject.

*

“I’m going to kill him,” Bilbo said to no one in particular, as he stared at the offending teapot.

The  _ new _ teapot, much finer than the one he’d been using, of course; which had obviously been hand-crafted by no one less than an expert in whatever the skill of teapot-making is called in a place run by Dwarves; the shiny new beautiful copper teapot with ridiculous gold inlays, which now sat atop Bilbo’s stove as if it belonged there and wasn’t an unnecessary gift from a stubborn old Dwarf king who didn’t know when to quit being stubborn and wonderful… wonderfully stubborn.

“Who are you going to kill?” Kili piped up behind him.

Bilbo turned and gave Kili a bright smile. “Just your uncle. Tea?”

*

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, an unusual sheepish quality to his voice, “did you know that someone commissioned a new sword to be made for me?”

“Hm? Oh that? Yes, of course I know. I commissioned it.”

“I don’t exactly need another sword,” Thorin said with a small frown. “Though I’m sure it will be very finely made-”

“It will be,” Bilbo interrupted cheerily. He smiled; Thorin frowned a bit deeper. Bilbo leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re going to love it, I’m sure. Good-night.”

*

“Thorin!” Bilbo called, passing through the foyer of Thorin’s room and into the dining room. “Thorin!”

Bilbo could distinctly hear the sounds of  _ crafting _ , which meant absolutely nothing good these days. He knocked on the door to the study before pushing it open.

“Thorin.” Bilbo resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, but just barely. “I don’t need a new writing desk.”

Thorin was seated on the floor, sanding the leg of a beautiful hobbit-sized desk. “The design details match your new armchair.”

“Thorin.”

“It’s a gift,” the Dwarf said with a smile.

Bilbo sighed and left the way he’d come in.

*

“Nothing else will fit in my wardrobe.”

“Nonsense, there’s always room for new fashions. You’ve got to keep up, Thorin, you’re the king.”

“No, I mean - literally Bilbo, no more clothing will fit in my wardrobe! It’s filled to bursting!”

Bilbo shrugged. “Some of it will fit Fili or Kili when they’re a bit older, I’m sure. Set aside the older garments for them.”

Thorin sighed, and began moving the new silk tunics off the bed.

*

“Absolutely not. I draw the line here.” Bilbo slammed his hand down on Thorin’s drawing - the architectural drawing, which Bilbo could tell was the plan outlining an expansion of the outdoor gardens Thorin had had built for him on the side of the mountain, complete with a beautiful round door leading out to the terrace from Bilbo's quarters.

“Drawing the line there adds no benefit to the design, Bilbo,” Thorin said with a grin.

“Thorin, you know exactly what I mean, you clot-headed -”

The corner of the firm line of Thorin’s mouth twitched in an inevitable smile, and Bilbo finally pinched the bridge of his nose, hard, right before bursting into laughter. Thorin was only a second behind him. They laughed until their stomachs hurts, Bilbo clutching at Thorin’s table for support, his eyes stinging with tears.

“Mercy,” he choked out, “I can’t take it anymore. We’ve got to end this.”

“I concede,” Thorin rasped, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, his shoulders shaking.

“I don’t know what happened to us.” Bilbo willed himself under control, wiping at his eyes, light with mirth.

Thorin shook his head, and reached out to draw Bilbo close to him. “I know the stubborness of Dwarves is famed, but who speaks of the stubbornness of hobbits? It’s truly a fearsome thing.”

Bilbo smiled and leaned against him, drawing Thorin’s head against his chest. “I was planning a chariot for you next,” he admitted, and Thorin started laughing into his hand again, “modeled after the ones Dain had - less warlike, of course, but it would have been very fine. Perhaps you might consider-”

“Enough,” Thorin coughed, “enough!”

*

“Thorin,” Bilbo said sleepily, snuggled up in bed with his head on Thorin’s shoulder, “while I have no intentions of breaking our truce, I feel I must point out… your birthday is coming up in a few months.” Bilbo turned his head and caught the brief look of near-horror on Thorin’s face before he smiled.

“Skip the gifts,” Thorin said, just as Bilbo spurted, “No gifts!” and the pair were giggling helplessly again.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> so much fluff i am actually dead goodbye world


End file.
